Happily Ever After I think
by Cicilianna
Summary: [WIP] When Jen receives a letter from Luke, asking for her help in his relationship with Geri Lynn, Scott gets the wrong end of the stick and gets jealous. Can their relationship survive the odds? R&Ring is a must! Chapter 9 is finally up
1. The Mysterious EMail

**DISCLAIMER:** Do I really need to do this? Meg Cabot owns...nuff said, methinks!

**SUMMARY:** When Jen receives a letter from Luke, asking for her help in his relationship with Geri Lynn, Scott gets the wrong end of the stick and gets jealous. Can their relationship survive the odds?

**RATING:** K plus for the minute, may go up in later chapters.

**A/N:** So, I thought I'd try my hand at writing a _Teen Idol _fic, as it is a new category...and I got bitten by the plot bunnies! So, without further ado, here is **Happily Ever After- I Think **for your very own reading pleasure. Don't forget to review!

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_Over the Spring Break my boyfriend dumped me. I was upset at the time, but now I have gotten over it. I met a cute guy around, and we have become friends...and maybe more than that in the near future. When I met Fred (not his real name) on the first day back, he asked me if I would go out with him again. I haven't answered him yet...but am torn him and the cute guy I met over the Spring Break. He seems to have changed. Who do I choose?_

_Trapped between two guys_

_**Dear Trapped,**_

**_Well, duh! Fred dumps you then wants you back. How do you know he's changed? He told you? I'd say get to know this 'cute guy you met on Spring Break' a little better...and think about it. If you'd dumped Fred and then asked him back out, what do you think he'd be feeling?_**

_**Annie**_

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I checked my hair in the mirror as the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" I called, running down the stairs.

My boyfriend, Scott Bennett- I loved that sentence. I'll write it again, just to be, you know, me. My boyfriend, Scott Bennett, was coming to dinner at my house, to meet my parents so that they could reassure themselves that I wasn't going out with, like, a mass murderer, or something.

Although since the Luke Striker incident, my parents have been _way_ more relaxed in what they let me do...or not do. And so, they hadn't asked too many questions about Scott, you know, just let us have our space, until a few days ago when my Mum asked me if I wanted to ask him to come over to dinner after one of the _Register_ meetings.

So, here I was, the first Friday back after Spring Break, about to introduce my boyfriend to my parents.

I was more nervous than the time when I was meant to be doing Jazz Hands with the Troubadours.

I opened the door, and there stood Scott. "Hey," I said.

"Hey," he replied.

"Hey." That was me again. Yup, IQ 500! "Umm...come in!"

He came inside and, of course, there were my parents, milling around in the background, trying to look like they were actually doing something, instead of, you know, just waiting to be introduced. Scott was cool about it though, so it was good.

"Mom, Dad, this is Scott. Scott, these are my parents," I said.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Greenly. How are you?" Scott said turning to them.

"Fine, thank you," my Mom replied, with a smile. _So far, so good _I thought. "Jen, show your friend into the dining room." As I lead Scott into the dining room, I heard Mom whisper "He seems nice enough," to Dad. Things were looking good.

The meal went fine- Mom had cooked one of her special Spaghetti Bolognaises, and she and Scott spent a good ten minutes discussing how best to make pasta. Afterwards, we (Scott and I, I mean) went to see Luke's latest film. It wasn't _that _good, but we enjoyed it because we knew him.

When I got home, I logged onto my e-mail to tell Trina what our date had been like. I was distracted, though, at an e-mail sitting in my inbox from...Luke Striker! What did he want?

**TO: Jenny Greenly**

**FROM: Lucas Smith**

**SUBJECT: Help!**

**Dear Annie,**

**I thought that seeing as you're that agony aunt person for your school newspaper, you could help me. I have a problem: Geri Lynn thinks I am 'seeing' my co-star Lindsay Lohan behind her back, because of some piece a tabloid ran. Can I come and talk it over with you? (In my Lucas Smith disguise, of course ;-) I don't want to be doing that again!) Will Saturday at 2:00pm be OK? At the café we went to last time? E-mail me and let me know.**

**Thanks so much,**

**-L**

I replied at once.

**TO: Lucas Smith**

**FROM: Jenny Greenly**

**SUBJECT: RE: Help!**

**Dear L**

**Sure. See you then!**

**Annie**

**PS: Don't you dare call me that at the café. My identity must be protected! ;-)**

This could be interesting. I wonder what on Earth he wants me to do? I must look and see if I can find a copy of that tabloid and try and work out why Geri Lynn is so upset.

Once an Agony Aunt, always an Agony Aunt. Such is life.

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**A/N: **Please, please, please review. I know that this chapter is fairly short, but I'm hoping the next one will be longer! Thank you!

Cicilianna


	2. Sighing, sighing and more sighing

**DISCLAIMER:** Roses are red, violets are blue, I do not own it, so pretty please don't sue:D

**A/N:** Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed; your comments make me smile! Thank you so much! I'd especially like to thank **Purple Rhapsody **for pointing out a spelling error, which I have now corrected. _Merci, mon amie_:D

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_Without sounding like I'm bragging here, I ace all my tests, have an above average IQ, and get praised loads on my report cards. I don't mean for this to sound nasty, but I am much cleverer than my younger sister, whereas she is much better than me at creative things like art and music. She doesn't mind; in fact she's happy with it. What she doesn't like is that my parents keep telling her to "be more like your older sister" and "get better grades". How can I tell them to stop doing this, before they seriously upset her?_

_Looking Out 4 my Sis_

_**Dear Looking Out,**_

_**YOU don't. Your sister does. I appreciate the fact that you're looking out for your sister, but she's got to learn to stand on her own two feet. What's she gonna do when you go off to college, huh? **_

**_If she speaks to your parents about it and they STILL keep doing it, I'd suggest that then either you or another family member talk to them about it. _**

_**Annie**_

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"So, Jen," Scott said, as we he pulled up in my driveway after school on Friday. "Do you want to come down to my place on Saturday, in the afternoon? I'd ask you for dinner, but I'm going to see my Aunt in the evening." He pulled a face.

"Sure, I'd love to!" I said, "I'll meet you at...two?"

"See you tomorrow, then," he said, as I climbed out of the car.

"Bye, and thanks for the ride!" I answered, as he reversed out of my driveway. Hoisting my book bag further up my shoulder, I waved to Trina, already home and lying in a bikini, sunbathing, in her garden.

"Going out with your boyfriend _again_,Jen? When are you going to spend sometime with me, your best friend?" she asked, but she was joking.

I pretended to check an imaginary diary. "Let me see...erm...well, I'm quite busy for the next few months, but I could pencil you in for the fourth of December?"

"Oh, no! I'm seeing Steve then!" she replied.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the eighth of January, then," I said.

She sighed. "It'll have to do, I suppose. Trig homework?"

"Sure, just let me go and say 'hi' to Mom," I said, before making my way into my house.

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_You have 1 new mail message _my computer informed me, as I switched it on.

"Who...?" I wondered aloud, before a light bulb flashed above my head. "Luke...oh no!" I opened the message.

**To: Jenny Greenly**

**From: Lucas Smith**

**Subject: Thanks so much**

**Jenny,**

**Saturday at 2pm will be fine. Meet me at the café. Drinks are on me. Thanks you SO much! Lol, and of course I'll protect you're identity. Thanks, -l**

Scott, or Luke?

Scott was my boyfriend. If it was him in this situation, he'd either come on a date with me, or he'd explain to me what was going on, say he was very sorry, but he couldn't make our date on Saturday, but why don't we meet up on Sunday instead? 'Course I think Scott still thinks that I have (or at least had) a crush on Luke, so me saying "I'm very sorry Scott, but I can't come on a date with you; Luke has some relationship problems with your ex-girlfriend, and I have to go sort them out"...yeah, not such a good idea.

So, I'll go on the date with Scott then. Sorted.

Except, Luke asked me first. And given the disguise he'll have to come up with just to come and see me, I guess he wouldn't be asking unless it was _absolutely necessary_. And Luke is a nice guy, and Geri Lyn is my friend. I don't want to see them all broken-hearted.

Yes, but what about Scott? He's-

Oh, Gawd! This could just go on forEVER! I decided to think about it whilst I did my Trig homework IM'd Trina. Of course, I couldn't ask Trina for any ideas. She'd just go "LUKE STRIKER! Omigod Jen, please, PLEASE let me come with you! I promise I won't do anything stupid. And I'll never make you do anything like join show-choir again! Please?"

Eventually, I decided that I'd flip a coin. Heads, go on a date with Scott; tails, go sort out Luke Striker's life.

Tails.

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_Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring-_

"Hello, this is Scott Bennett. How can I help you?" God, WHY was I so nervous?

"Hi Scott, it's Jen here!" I said, hoping my nervousness did not show too badly.

"Oh, hi Jen! What's up?" Damn. It did.

"You'll _never _guess what my mother has done!" I said, flopping onto my bed with a sigh.

"What?" he asked.

"She's only gone and booked me a dentist appointment for two on Saturday!" I said, exasperatedly.

"Well, never mind. You can come 'round later, can't you?" Scott said.

"No, that's the thing. She's also asked me to baby-sit one of her friend's children, and I would have said no, but my Mom owes her a massive favour- I've forgotten why- so I just can't get out of it! But how about we meet up on Sunday?" I asked, feeling a bit better. That's what Annie would have said to do, I suppose.

"Oh, Jen, I'm really sorry but I'm staying at my Aunt's house all weekend. I'm really sorry," he said, and he sounded it, too.

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "It's my fault."

"It's both of us really, but never mind; these things can't be helped. Guess we'll just have to see each other at school on Monday," he said.

"Mmmn...I guess...see you then," I said resignedly.

"Bye Jen," he said. "I...I love you."

"I...love you too," I whispered. I don't know if he heard me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sniffed. Normally, I would have been running round with a huge smile on my face, but I felt...cruel. How could I be deceiving him like this?

With another huge sigh, I opened my inbox again to reply to Luke.

**OK, **I typed, **I'll see you then. From Jen.**

Interested as to what the newspaper could have written (I was not being nosy; I was searching for background information!), I Googled "Luke Striker, Lindsay Lohan, relationship" and waited to see what came up.

The first result was from the _Indiana Gazette_. The headline "**Luke and Lindsay equals true love 4 ever?**" blared out at me, and underneath was a picture from the final scene of _US 30 _where they are kissing.

_Luke Striker only recently ditched Jenny Green _(GreenLY! I'm only "Green" in the movie! And WE WERE NOT GOING OUT, so he couldn't ditch me!) _for Geri Lyn at the Clayton High School Spring Fling, but he could be moving on again._

_He and co-star of US 30 Lohan were seen at a restaurant together last Friday. The candlelit atmosphere was proclaimed "very romantic" and "the ideal place for a date"- if you can afford it. Reserving a table at _The Fountain Inn _can cost up to $150- and that's before you pay the cost of a meal! Classy!_

_Neither Luke nor Lindsay's publicity offices wishes to comment, and neither does Luke's (ex) girlfriend, Geri Lyn. _

_So what makes Luke so insecure in a relationship? Well, many say the marriage of Angelique..._

And so it went on. Blah, blah, blah. Geri Lyn wouldn't have been too happy, but I suspected it would just be tabloid mania for superstars.

And, as usual, it was left to me to put the pieces back together. Sigh.

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**Please review guys, it really does mean a lot. Thanks!**


	3. Meeting Luke Again

**DISCLIAMER:** Hey, guess what? I don't own them!

**A/N:** Thanks to those of you who reviewed...and not that I'm begging, or anything, but please, _please_, PLEASE review?

(And the begging really is for a good cause- how else am I meant to get better? Huh?) :D

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_My boyfriend doesn't want to go to the prom, but I'd really like to. It sounds childish, but all my friends are going, and it's meant to be a "thing" that everybody does. How can I persuade him to come with me?_

_Prom girl without a date_

_**Dear Prom girl,**_

**_You're right, it is childish. I mean, at least come up with a better argument than "it's a "thing" everybody does". Why don't go to an anti-prom party with your boyfriend? Or better still; actually listen to him for a change. Sounds like you are the dominant one in your relationship._**

_**Annie**_

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"Hey, Lucas!" I said, strolling over to where Luke Striker was sitting nonchalantly (...I hoped). "How are you?"

"I'm fine...well, I'm not really...well, my _health_ is fine, I just...oh, God. I'm babbling, aren't I?" he asked, turning to me.

"Umm...not really," I lied. 'Cause I mean, Luke Striker...ahem, 'Lucas Smith', is a film star. And that's, like, the eleventh commandment, isn't it? "Thou shalt tell white lies to celebrities when they are doing something stupid".

"You're lying," he said.

"Not really," I said, for the second time in all of thirty seconds. I _am_ intelligent.

No, really.

Anyway, we soon managed to break the ice. I ordered a lemonade and a blueberry muffin (the speciality of Rena, the owner of the café) and Luke- Lucas- ordered his usual iced water. That's the thing with celebrities. They only ever drink iced water and alcohol.

But I cut to the chase. "I had a look at that newspaper article," I said. "What do you want me to do?" Tell it like it is with boys- they don't know the meaning of the word "subtle".

"Well...I don't know," he said. "I've tried talking to Geri...but she just won't listen. I told her we weren't going out; I even said I'd get Lindsay to tell her that we weren't a couple, but she just goes 'Oh, yeah, I'm sure _Lindsay_ will do anything for you!' I mean, what's that supposed to mean?"

I rolled my eyes and took a bite out of the gorgeous blueberry muffin. "It means that she doesn't believe you!" I said, refraining from adding "duh!" to that comment with (what I felt was) enormous self-control.

"But I'd believe her, if the situation was reversed!" he said. Deary me, he sounded like a petulant toddler.

"What, you mean if she was trying to persuade you that she wasn't going out with Lindsay Lohan?" I asked, cheekily.

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Now don't be childish," he said. "What I meant was- and anybody would have known this- I'd believe Geri Lynn if she told me that she wasn't going out with someone, if I thought she was."

"Would you?" I shot back. It's very easy to say things like that...but when it comes down to it, all you can think of is yourself. I told him so.

"Probably...anyway, this isn't helping. I need to know what to do to get her back," he said.

I thought for a bit. I realised that my rushing straight in carry messages to and fro and running 'round in circles wouldn't work...Geri would get even more suspicious and may guess that I was Annie...and to be honest, I didn't want to spend my life running between the two. I do have a life, you know.

No, really.

Eventually, we decided that the best thing to do was for me to stay out of it for a bit, unless everything got drastically worse, (because Geri Lynn was bound to get even more paranoid if another girl- especially one who Luke had known very well- was to suddenly jump in and tell her that no, Luke _wasn't_ cheating on her) and that Luke should write her a nice letter. I helped him to write it, because I am such a kind, caring person.

And also I don't really trust boys to write "a nice apology letter" sincerely...even if their name is Luke Striker. Yeah, he's better known than, say, Scott, but underneath they're all the same.

Not that I told him this.

**Dear Geri-Lynn,** (we got, after several attempts)

**Please don't screw this up and throw it in the bin! Please take the time to listen to what I have to say.** (This sentence was deleted then re-entered so many times, before we eventually decided to keep it. We thought it sounded too formal.)

**I swear that I have never, ever been out with Lindsay Lohan and have never kissed her except in the movie _US 30_. I am very sorry I gave you the impression that this was happening, and I think you should know by now that I would not do anything like this. **(Again, we deleted then re-entered the last part of that last sentence, as we were worried that it sounded to accusatory, but, in the end, we decided it should stay.)

**Please, please believe me when I say that this was never the case, and I want you back. I miss you.**

**Love,**

**Luke xx**

**PS: I love you **

OK, so it's very smarmy and suck-y up-y, but Geri will want grovelling before she gets back with him, and...well, she's got it.

And she'll forgive him when she reads it, because Geri Lynn is a romantic at heart, and that letter is very, very romantic, if I do say so myself.

So then everything will be happy and rose tinted again.

Except...

I know that voice.

That voice is Scott.

Rena knows Scott's mom.

Scott wasn't going to visit his Aunt until later in the day.

I hear him asking Rena for something of his Mom's that she borrowed.

"Thank you, Jen," says Luke. "I really appreciate your coming down here." We both stand up- myself in a panic and Luke probably because he thinks I'm leaving.

We are the only customers in the café, except for an old couple over by the window. So when Scott comes through, it is very easy for him to see Luke pulling me into a hug.

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**A/N 2:** I am looking for a beta-reader to help me with this story- I usually ask my friend Diana, but she hasn't read _Teen Idol_ because they don't have it in Portugal, and I don't want to spoil the ending for her. If anybody is interested, would you mind dropping me an e-mail (my address is on my profile page)? Thank you!

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Everybody do the BreakUp!

**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em, just enjoy writing about 'em!

**A/N:** Thank you to **Purple Rhapsody**, who agreed to help me with beta-ing this fic. Also, thank you to the people who have reviewed. I really appreciate your comments:D

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School Register. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie, _

My Grandma is ill with cancer and she's probably going to die within the next year. Because of this, I want to spend as much time as is humanly possible with her, but my parents won't let me. They say it will be "too upsetting for me". I realize that it will be upsetting, but I still want to see her. I've tried telling them this, but they say that they know about 'these things', and I don't. I really want to see her; what can I do?

Missing my Gran

**_Dear Missing, _**

Firstly, I'd read up on the type of cancer you're Grandma has and find out what's likely to happen. Then explain to your parents that you have read up about it, and you know what's going to happen, that you appreciate their concern but that you still want to see her, and you're not too young, or anything. If they still don't let you see her, ask another relative to help you. And like I've said before- as long as there's Annie, you're not alone.

Annie

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Scott turned and walked out of the café. I ran outside after him. "Go away, Jenny," he said.

"Look, Scott, I know what you're thinking. But I promise you, it's not like that," I said.

"Well it sure looked like 'that' to me!" he said, making finger-quotes as he said the word 'that'.

"You. . .you don't understand! Luke has fallen out with Geri-Lynn, and I just stepped in to help them pick up the pieces! He was only hugging me to. . .uh. . .say thanks for helping!" Even though every word of it was true, it sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.

"Uh, sure, and I'm a ballet-dancing princess!" Scott snapped.

"Look, I know it sounds stupid and untrue, but it is true- every word of it! You can ask Luke!" As soon as I'd said it, I realized it was a mistake.

Scott was striding along, at a speed that suggested he might be trying to break the sound barrier ("_Wronged boyfriend sets new world record in attempt to get away from ex-girlfriend!_" Well, at least it would give the newspaper something else to talk about other than the supposed love triangle between Geri-Lynn, Luke and Lindsay Lohan).

Being much shorter than him, my legs were also shorter, meaning I had to half-jog to keep up with him.

"Oh, sure! I'll ask Luke!" Scott retorted.

"Scott," I said. I was nearly in tears. "Please. Just listen to me. I swear, I would never. . .I could never do anything like that, really I wouldn't!"

"Well, you know Jen, it's not just about the fact that you're seeing Luke Striker behind my back. I know you told me you didn't want him, and that you were "just friends"," Scott said, stopping to face me.

"I-" he held up his hand, cutting me off before I'd barely got a word out.

"You know, I could just about handle that. But you know what I really don't like- what really upsets me?" he asked.

I just shook my head. What else could I do?

"The fact that you lied. If you'd have had the balls to tell me that you were going out with him, that you wanted to end it with me, yes, I'd have been upset, but not as upset as I am now- now that you've lied to me!"

I couldn't even deny it. Every word of it was true. Not the part about me fancying Luke; Luke and I are JUST FRIENDS! But the whole "lied to him" part.

Yeah, that was true.

I took a deep breath. "Scott," I said.

He just kept on walking. We reached the car park and he got in his car. "Bye, Jen!" he said, fake cheerful, with a sarcastic wave. I watched as he drove away- at a speed that had to be _at least_ twice the limit.

_'Well done, Jen,'_ I thought. _'Well done. The only boy you ever loved, and you mess up spectacularly. Well done.'_

"Jen!" I heard a voice call. "JEN!"

I turned around. It was Luke. "Are. . .are you OK?"

"Who, me? Oh, I'm FINE!" I said shrilly. "Absolutely FINE!"

"I. . .uh. . .I'm sorry. . ." Luke said. I know it wasn't his fault. I KNOW. But I was mad, and I needed someone to yell at.

"Well, it's just great that you're sorry!" I said. "I should think so, too! After all the things I did for you, and all you manage to do in return is lose me my freaking boyfriend!" Only I didn't say 'freaking'. . .if you catch my drift.

"I. . .I said I was sorry! What more do you want me to do?" Luke yelled back.

I don't blame him for getting mad at me. It wasn't his fault; it was mine. But I was hurt and angry and guilty, and I just needed someone to take it all out on. "Butt out and quit messing up my life?" I suggested.

Again, as soon as I'd said it, I realized it was a mistake. Luke just stood and looked at me for a minute, whilst I wished I could pick up the words and stuff them back into my mouth.

"If that's the way you feel, then fine," he said.

"Fine!" I said.

"Fine!" he said.

"F- oh, for God's sake!" I said, and turned around. I marched back into the café to pay the bill, only to find that Luke had already done it.

I went back out into the car park, but Luke's limo was speeding away into the distance. I had caught the one-forty bus from the stop a little way down my road, but the next bus didn't arrive for nearly an hour. I decided to walk the three miles home.

It gave me time to think, but I still didn't know what to do. I mean, I had to apologize to Scott and Luke now. . .and the truth was, I didn't think either of them were very likely to listen.

I loved Scott and I wanted him back as my boyfriend. And I liked Luke. . .though I don't think he liked me very much now.

I wanted to talk to them, to sit down and tell them both that I was very sorry. . .but I don't think that either of them wanted to talk to me very much at the moment.

And I couldn't say I blamed either of them, to be honest.

For someone who's meant to be the school Ask Annie, and therefore solve everyone's problems, I sure wasn't making a very good job of solving my own.


	5. The Geriatric Snail

**DISCLAIMER:** If I told you I didn't own them, would you be shocked?

**A/N:** Thank you to **Purple Rhapsody** for beta-ing. Guys, I'm running out of _Annie_ problems. Another reason for you to review- drop me a "problem" in your review!

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_I've always been best friends with this girl (I'm a guy) and nothing else, but lately people keep asking us if we are going out. I always just say, "No, we're not", but she makes a big song-and-dance of saying "As if I would go out with him!" At first, I thought she was only joking, but lately she has been saying it more and more aggressively and truthfully. It hurts my feelings the way she says it, but if I tell her this, I'm worried she'll think I want to go out with her, and I don't. I want to stay friends, though. _

_Hurt and confused_

_**Dear Hurt,**_

**_Well, I'd say the obvious answer would be for you to both get a boy/girlfriend, with whom you can go out on dates with, meaning people will stop asking you if you're going out. However, I know that that's not as simple as it sounds. Although you don't want to, explaining that you find her actions hurtful, but stressing that you only want to be friends, not boy/girlfriend with each other, may be the best thing to do. And if she thinks you want to go out, after you stressed that you didn't want to, she has too high an opinion of herself, don't you agree? _**

_**Annie**_

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I walked home at the speed of a geriatric snail; it took me nearly two hours to walk the three miles home-, which is slow even by my standards. It gave me a lot of time to plan what I was going to do, to get everything back to normal, but I wasn't having much luck. In fact, my plan so far was this:

- Get home.

- Come up with something.

So far, I had successfully managed to complete the first bullet point on my list. It was the second one I was having trouble with.

I knew what I wanted to do: get back together with Scott and make up with Luke; I just didn't know how I was going to get what I wanted.

I don't think I'm making much sense.

When I finally got back home, I managed to sneak back upstairs without anyone (mainly my mother and Trina) asking me any questions. I logged on to my e-mail, deciding that, though it was very cowardly, I would apologize to Luke via the Internet.

I know, I know, _Annie_ would never advise it, but. . .well, what other choice do I have? I mean, yeah, he might just take one look at the sender and delete it, but that wouldn't be as embarrassing as me turning up on his doorstep, and him having some security guy throw me out.

Not that any security guy would throw nice little Jenny Greenley out. . .but, oh, yeah. I'm not nice little Jenny Greenley anymore, am I? Nice little Jenny Greenley would so not give her boyfriend the impression that she was cheating on him.

Eventually, I composed and sent Luke an e-mail that was almost as desperate-sounding as the one we sent to Geri-Lynn earlier in the day.

**Dear Luke, **

**I am so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you; you were just the first person around that I could take my anger out on. _Annie_ would hate me, I'm sure. But Scott thought I was "seeing you"; even though it was the exact opposite, as we know. I made the mistake of saying, "I'll get Luke to tell you it's not true", but, of course, that's the last thing Scott wants to hear. **

**So I was pretty mad, mostly at myself, but I couldn't really stand there in the parking lot and have an argument with myself! People would have thought I was a little bit. . .you know. . .off my trolley. :S**

**So I'm very sorry I yelled at you, but like I said I was cross, and you were the first person I could take it out on.**

**I'm sorry.**

**Yours,**

**Jen xx**

I pressed send, but I guess Luke must also have been online, because, after returning to my room from an emergency trip to the kitchen for rations (chocolate), there was a reply sitting in my inbox, from Luke, asking me if I had a screen name.

I replied back to him, saying that I did (I was _JennyG_); he said that his was _teen-idol_ and soon we were happily chatting away.

Well, OK, I wasn't that happy, 'cause I was on comfort food, 'cause of the whole Scott-breaking-up-with-me thing.

But aside from the fact that I was now boyfriend-less, things were, you know, great! I was practically over the moon with joy.

Not.

I mean, I know things could be worse. I could be a starving orphan in Africa, with cholera; the kind the cheerleaders are always having bake-sales to raise money for. (Not that Courtney Deckard would sully her hands with cake mixture. It's left to the "lesser" cheerleaders to do that).

Or I could be someone who's just found out they were going to die from a life-threatening disease.

But what is it that my grandmother is always saying? Oh yes: _the shoe pinches the one who wears it_.

Which basically means: _the only problems that hurt you are your own_.

Which makes sense. Because how many of us, when we get some bad news, which in the scheme of things isn't really that bad (like your boyfriend breaking up with you) go "Oh well, could be worse; I could be a starving orphan in Africa or another third world country!"

Exactly.

The only problem(s) we can think of is/are our own.

Anyway, so my IM conversation with Luke went like this:

_**teen-idol**: What happened with Scott, then?_

_**JennyG**: He thought I was seeing you, and he broke up with me._

_**teen-idol**: I'm sorry- and I mean that sincerely._

_**JennyG**: It's OK- it's my fault too._

_**teen-idol**: Why? I mean, is there anything else, other than the fact that you are one-half of the supposed couple that is Luke&Jen?_

_**JennyG**: I didn't tell him I was going to see you; he'd asked me on a date and I'd said that I couldn't make it because I was baby-sitting or at the dentist or something stupid. . . _

_**teen-idol**: Oh_

_**JennyG**: Yeah. Exactly. Anyway, I've got to go- my Mom's back and she's calling me. Talk to you soon- J._

It was a lie; my Mom wasn't back (in fact, I wasn't even sure if she'd left. She might have been in the garden, gardening or working on her tan). But it wasn't a complete lie- there was someone calling me.

Trina.

And, though, she and Steve are now officially "an item". . .well, would you have wanted her knowing that you've just been talking to Luke Striker? Or that you know his screen name?

Yeah. . .

* * *

**You see that purple button? It wants you to press it. Go on. No really, it does. "Press me!" it says. "Press me! I am only a simple being! Grant me my one wish!" **

**Please:D**

**_Annie_ problems needed!**


	6. Secrets and Lies

**DISCLAIMER:** They are still not mine. :(

**A/N:** Thanks again to **Purple Rhapsody **for beta reading and correcting my numerous mistakes, and thank you to **Swimmergirl72** for the Ask Annie problem. Keep them coming, as well as the reviews!

* * *

ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

I think that he is extremely nice! For example, the other day I complained about how heavy my backpack was and how I had to walk home practically staring at the ground, and he carried it for me. And another time he came to sit by me after I deliberately moved somewhere else

_Dear Annie,_

_I like this guy, and I think he might like me, but I am not sure. I think that he is extremely nice! For example, the other day I complained about how heavy my backpack was and how I had to walk home practically staring at the ground, and he carried it for me. And another time he came to sit by me after I deliberately moved somewhere else. But the only problem is, he is always nice to everyone, and so I don't know if he likes me in "that way" or if he's just being himself. He is also two grades above me. How can I tell if he likes me, and what should I do? Ask him out? I am usually good at this, but not now. I have never had a boyfriend either.  
_

_Befuddled_

_**Dear Befuddled,**_

**_Well, I don't know this guy, but he sounds like a great catch! I think you should ask him out whilst want to you've got the chance, but, if you didn't want to ask him for a date with just the two of you, you could say "Do you want come to the cinema with me and a group of friends on Saturday?" Then try to sit next to him so that when the "scary" bits come on, you can grab his hand and pretend to be scared and see what he does. Then think about asking him so it's just the two of you. Oh, and don't be worried about the age difference- if you love each other, it doesn't mean anything._**

_**Annie**_

* * *

"Jen! Are you in your room?" Trina called up the stairs.

"Yeah," I replied. "Come on up!"

I heard her climbing the stairs, and walking down the corridor. She came into my room, and flopped down on my bed. "How was your date with Scott?" she asked. I had told her that I was going on a date with Scott, not that I was going to see Luke.

Because, even though I _think_ she believes me about the whole "just friends" thing, I couldn't tell her I was going as _Annie_. My life has become such a huge web of secrets and lies that I could hardly remember what I had said to whom.

I turned around to face her, swiveling round on the chair. "Fine," I replied, forcing a smile.

Trina frowned slightly. "Are you OK, Jen?" she asked.

I don't know if you've ever been in a position where you're really angry, either at yourself or someone else, but sometimes, just when you're at your absolute maddest point, when all you want to do is punch someone or scream at them, someone will ask you if you're OK, and you'll snap- not to hit them, or yell at them, but to burst into tears.

That happened to me. All it took was for Trina to ask me if I was OK, and I was crying like a baby. How embarrassing.

Trina stood up and walked over to me, putting her arm around my shoulders. "What's happened? What's wrong?" she wanted to know, but that only made me cry harder.

Hearing my sobs, my Dad called up the stairs, "Is everything OK up there?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Trina called back. "Jen just whacked her funny bone on the door. She'll live!"

"Ouch," said my Dad. "That hurts! Do you want some ice?"

This time, I managed to get a grip on myself and reply. "N-no, I'm OK. It's just a shock," I called.

"Ah well, I'm just down here if you want me to drive you to the emergency room," he joked, before going back outside.

Trina closed my bedroom door. "Now, tell me what _really_ happened," she said.

"Well. . .you know I told you I was going on a date with Scott?" I asked.

"Ye-e-e-s," she replied, stretching out the 'e' to make the word sound very long.

"WellactuallyIwasseeingLukebecauseGeri-Lynnwasgoingtobreakupwithhimbecauseofsomething thetabloidsprintedsoIhelpedhimwritealettertoher," I said, very quickly and all joined together. I paused and took a quick gulp of air. "ButthenScottcameinandI'dtoldhimIwasatthedentistsoI couldn'tcomeonadateandhesawmewithLukeandthoughtweweregoingout."

"Could you try saying that at a speed of less than ninety miles an hour, so that it might be possible for a normal human being to understand?" Trina asked.

"Well actually I was seeing Luke because Geri-Lynn was going to break up with him because of something the tabloids printed so I helped him write a letter to her," I said, this time much slower (but I still wasn't talking very clearly because I'd just been crying). "But then Scott came in and I'd told him I was at the dentist so I couldn't come on a date and he saw me with Luke and thought we were going out."

"Ri-i-i-ight. I _think_ I understood that. Luke Striker asked you to go and solve his relationship problems with Geri-Lynn, correct?" Trina asked.

"Yes," I replied. "But at the same time, Scott asked me out on a date."

"And you said that you couldn't go, because you were at the dentist," Trina continued.

"And Luke and I went to a café, and just when he hugged me to say thank you for helping-"

"Scott walked in and saw you, and thought you were seeing Luke behind his back-"

"And when I tried to explain to Scott that we weren't seeing each other and I was only helping Luke-"

"He got mad and dumped you?"

"Well, he didn't actually say 'you're dumped', but he implied it, and he was also mad because I'd lied and said I was at the dentist!" I finished. "And now I don't know what to do or anything and I love him and. . .oh, God!" I burst into a fresh wave of tears.

Trina handed me a tissue and put her arm back around me. "What am I going to do?" I wailed.

"I. . .I. . .I don't know," said Trina. "I've never. . .I know!"

"What?" I asked, feeling a flicker of hope. Trina's 'boy ideas' are usually very good. She's no good at her own love life, but she manages other people's brilliantly.

"Write to _Annie_, of course!" she said, as if it was the best idea since sliced bread.

"I can't- I'm _Annie_," I replied, before realizing what I had said and slapping a hand over my mouth.

"Right, you can't because you're _Annie_," she said, not realizing what I'd said at first. "Wait. . .you can't because _you're Annie_? You? You are _Annie_? All those letter's I've sent, and you never said anything? Why didn't you tell me? Who else knows? Does Scott know? Oh, yeah he'd know because he's editor of the paper. YOU'RE _Annie_?"

"Trina!" I hissed, worried Mom would hear through the open window. "Don't shout! The last thing I need is my Mom finding out! She'd tell everyone!" I refrained from adding, "Just like you would."

"God!" she said. "How come you didn't tell me?"

"Trina," I said, firmly. "Would you have managed to keep it a secret?"

"Umm," she said. "Probably?" It came out as a question.

"Well, you're going to have to work on 'probably', aren't you?" I said snappily.

"All right already! God! What is with you? Do you have PMS or something?" she replied, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically.

"You know I don't. If I did, you would have it too. And I'm sorry," I said.

"It's OK," she said. Trina isn't one to hold a grudge. "And I won't tell anyone, either."

"Thank you," I said.

"So. . ." she said slowly. Oh, God. Why did I not like the sound of that?

"So what?" I asked, carefully.

"We've got to think of some other thing to do. To get you back with Scott, I mean. You do want to get back with him, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, I want to- although if the situations were reversed I wouldn't want to get back with him. If he'd done to me what I'd done to him, if that doesn't sound too confusing. So if he doesn't want to get back with me, I wouldn't blame him. Does that make sense?" I asked.

"Yes, but that's not the point. You have to win back his heart!" Trina said.

"Win back his heart?" I asked. "Trina, you've been watching too many soap operas. He hates me because I lied to him. Period."

"Jen, Jen, Jen," Trina shook her head. "No guy can resist a girl who looks like you in a mini-skirt."

"So what am I going to do? Stand on his doorstep in a mini-skirt and say, 'Hi! I'm Jen-in-a-mini-skirt! I'm sorry I lied! Will you take me back now?' I think not," I said.

"Oh, not _just_ a mini-skirt. We're going to give you a makeover!" Trina said brightly.

A makeover.

Catrina Larsson was going to give Jenny Greenley a makeover.

Oh, dear God.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far. It was very kind. I am humbled in your presence. Do it again? _:hopeful look:_


	7. Doing Domestic

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Teen Idol. Sometimes you just have to face these things.

**A/N:** Thanks once again to **Purple Rhapsody** for beta-ing, and to **armedwithapen** for the _Annie_ problem. Another thank you goes to all those who reviewed. I'd just like to moan, though, about all those people who've got this story on their alerts list, but have never bothered to review. I'm glad you're enjoying it, but come on! It won't kill you to review! (But if it does. . .be a dear and don't sue?)

* * *

ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_Last year, I had my first kiss. It wasn't that great and my then-boyfriend and I broke up shortly afterwards. Now I have a new boyfriend, and I just know we'll end up kissing. Thing is, he's way more experienced than I am, and I'm afraid I'll seem inexperienced. Please help! _

Inexperienced and Clueless

_**Dear Inexperienced,**_

**_Everybody kisses differently. He might think you're really good. Trust me, it's not hard. You'll learn quickly. If he really loves you, then he'll stay with you, even if you are a bad kisser. And if he dumps you then a) he's a jerk, b) you're better off without him and c) perhaps you should practice? But I don't think anybody could be that bad._**

_**Annie**_

_

* * *

_

"A makeover? Are you serious?" I asked, wondering if Trina had (finally) lost it.

"Why not?" she replied, a little defensively. "You gave Cara Co- I mean, Cara Schlossberg- a makeover, and look what happened to her!"

"I gave Cara a makeover because she was trying to be someone she wasn't. If you gave me a makeover, you'd be making me into someone I'm not. And I don't want to be someone I'm not," I said. "And anyway, what kind of a person do you think Scott is, anyway? He is- was- dating me because of who I am. He wouldn't want me to be someone I'm not."

"Jen. . .I wasn't going to make you into someone you're not. It's. . .how can I put this? You have different styles for different things, but they're all the same. Do you know what I mean?" she asked me.

"No," I said, because, honestly and truthfully, I had no clue what she was going on about.

"Well. . .you know the dress you wore for the Spring Fling?" she asked.

"Yes. . ." I replied, wondering where she was going with this.

"It was very Jen-ish, wasn't it? I mean, it was a dress that was very your kind of style, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Well, yes. I guess. It was more 'me' than the dress you were wearing- if that's what you mean," I said, still confused as to what she was getting at.

"Exactly- the dress was very 'Jen', but it wasn't something you'd wear to lounge around in and watch TV in at home," Trina said.

"Well, no. I'd probably wear a t-shirt and jeans, or something," I replied.

"Yes, but you wouldn't wear that combination for- oh, I don't know, your Grandma's 80th birthday party," Trina said. "You have different styles for different things!"

"Not really," I said. "It's more to do with the practicality of things. I mean, a beautiful prom dress around six-year-olds on a sugar high? Armed with ketchup bottles? Uh, I don't think so, Trina!"

"Well, what you call practicality, I call different styles that are the same," Trina replied. I decided not to point out that that was an oxymoron, and be content with just thinking to myself 'I'm best friends with a mad-woman'.

"Trina-" I began, but my Mom knocking on the door.

"Trina, your Mom wants you to go back to your house now," she said.

"OK, Mrs. Greenley. Tell her I'll be over in a second," Trina replied. My Mom shut my door again, and Trina turned back to me. "We need to go shopping some time this week," she said. "When's a good time? The shops will be closed tomorrow because of Sunday trading, and I can't make Monday, 'cause I'm going on a date with Steve."

"I've got my driving lesson on Tuesday," I said. "Wednesday?"

Trina nodded. "Yes, Wednesday after school. See you." She made her way downstairs, and back to her own house, leaving me to only dream (nightmare?) about the things she was going to do to me.

* * *

Later, I was in the kitchen, helping Mom prepare dinner. We were making spaghetti bolognaise (she was making the spaghetti, I was doing the bolognaise). I was busy chopping an onion, and she was mixing the contents of a bowl to form a doughy pasta, when she suddenly said, "Jen. . .you and Scott. . .you're. . .oh, how can I put this? Well. . .you're together, aren't you? "

"Umm, yes?" I answered, wondering where this was going. She hadn't said, "Jen, you are still together with Scott, aren't you? ", and there was no 'question' in her voice, so I doubted she knew what had happened at Rena's café that afternoon.

"Well, you see each other quite a lot don't you? And you go 'round to his house quite a lot too, don't you?" she asked, kneading the pasta mix far more vigorously than was necessary, and not meeting my eyes.

"Quite a bit, yeah," I agreed. Just where exactly was she going with this.

"Jen," she said, so forcefully that I stopped chopping the onion and looked at her. She looked back at me, determinedly. "Jen, are you and Scott having sex?"

"_WHAT_!" I exploded. "Having _sex_? No we're not! Having _SEX_? Why would-"

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed. "Do you want your brothers down here, asking what sex is? I was only asking!" She turned back to her pasta and began kneading it again. I huffed and puffed inwardly- just why would she think that?- and went back to chopping my onion.

"Jen. . ." she said again. God, not again. What's it going to be this time? I dreaded to think.

"Jen. . .if you and Scott were to have sex-" she held up a hand to stem my protests- ". . .you would make sure you used protection, wouldn't you?"

"Uh, yeah, Mom. Can you really see me as a teenaged mother?" Did she think I was stupid? I've seen the pictures of STD's in Health and Safety- trust me, after that lesson even Courtney Deckard would have agreed to become celibate for life.

"Well, I'm glad you would. But I was. . .umm. . .wondering. . .have you. . .have you ever thought of going on the Pill?" she asked me.

"The Pill?"

"Well, yes. Not only is it a contraceptive- I mean, sometimes in the. . .uh. . .heat of the moment, as it were, you might forget to use a condom-, but it regulates your periods, and stops you from getting bad cramps," she replied. She sounded like an advertisement- I half expected her to say, ". . ._and if you buy a packet today, you'll get another free! Hurry-while stocks last! Only from your local drugstore!_"

"One, I would never, ever forget to use a condom, especially if my period was due; two, I already have regular periods; and three, I don't get bad cramps," I said. "Now, can we change the subject?"

"OK, OK! Calm down! But Jen. . .if you ever want to talk. . .or anything like that. . .I'm here, OK?" she said.

"OK," I replied.

Then, a couple of minutes later, she asked, "Jen. . .are you crying?"

"N-no," I replied. "It's just this onion. I'm just going to go to the bathroom." And I ran out of the room, as fast as I could.

Because I was crying.

Because my Mom- bless her- was giving me the whole sex talk. . .and Scott and I weren't going to have sex, because Scott and I weren't going out. Because of my own stupid inability to tell the truth.

And I know it wasn't her fault. But I know that if I stayed in there any longer, I would have burst into big, baby sobs. Big, baby sobs which I wouldn't have been able to stop.


	8. Debating

**DISCLAIMER:** Do you think Meg would be willing to trade a few coppers, some half-used lip-glosses and a too full bookcase for copyright of _Teen Idol_? Me neither.

**A/N:** I am _soooo_ sorry this has taken so long to update, but I went on holiday, and as soon as I got back, my Dad was busy re-flooring the study, which meant that there was no internet access (something to do with where the cables went. . .I'm not too well-versed in electronics. . .)

Thanks, as usual, go to **Purple Rhapsody**, for not only being a great beta, but a great friend, as well. I really enjoy our chats about er. . .Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp, and, er, Johnny Depp!

-----

ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_My best friend is cheating on her boyfriend. Should I tell him or not? He also happens to be someone I am good friends with, though not in a romantic sense at all! Is it none of my business?_

_Stuck in the middle_

_**Dear Stuck,**_

**_Whose friendship do you value the most? If you tell you best friend's boyfriend that he's being cheated on, then your best friend will be mad at you. If you don't say anything, your best friend's boyfriend will be mad at you. But cheating's always wrong, so I would say tell him. Your best (girl) friend will get over it. . .eventually._**

_**Annie**_

**-----**

On Sunday, it rained buckets, so I had a legitimate excuse for staying in my room and watching films all day. Well, not _all_ day; I came down for meals and that was it. I was terrified of going to school on Monday; well, going to the _Register_ meet on Monday, but my Mom didn't believe me when I said I had, overnight, obtained an extremely bad bout of the flu, and could I please stay at home for fear of passing it on to others at the school.

I wonder why she didn't believe me?

So I got to school, and things were just, y'know, peachy, until I got a message halfway through Latin, asking me to come and see Ms. Kellogg.

Thinking that there was just a whacked-out _Annie_ problem, I picked up my stuff and left. I walked down to the offices, and knocked on Ms. Kellogg's door. "Come on in," she called.

When I saw Trina in there, I knew it couldn't be an _Annie_ problem, after all. We had to chose a new extra-curricular. Great.

Trina waved hello, and I came and sat down on the chair with the hearts pattern on it.

"Now, you know why you're here, don't you?" Ms. Kellogg asked, as soon as I had sat down.

"Yes," I said. Well, it was easy enough to figure out, seeing as how the only possible thing Ms. Kellogg could want with me (apart from _Annie_, which was ruled out by Trina being there), was choosing a new extra-curricular, seeing how we both quit Show Choir. And, to be totally honest, I had no idea what I wanted to do. And to be even more honest, there were other things on my mind.

You know, the small matter of how to get my boyfriend back, persuade him that I was NOT cheating on him with Luke Striker, convince my best friend that donning a mini-skirt and having a makeover is _so_ not the way to win back said boyfriend's heart, referee Geri-Lynn and Luke's relationship AND listen to all the woes and hardships of the student population of Clayton High School, Indiana. So not that much, really.

"No," said Trina, at the same time.

"We need to choose a new extra-curricular, seeing how we don't do Show Choir any more," I said to her.

"Exactly, Jen," said Ms. Kellogg. "Have either of you had any thoughts as to what you'd like to do?"

"No," I said.

Ms. Kellogg must have noticed that my mind wasn't quite all there, because her next question was, "Are you OK, Jen? 'Cause you seem a little. . .upset. . ."

"I'm fine," I said.

"Her boyfriend broke up with her at the weekend and she's really upset about it," Trina said matter-of-factly to Ms. Kellogg. _Gee, thanks Trina_, I thought, _why don't you announce it in the _Register_ for good measure_?

"Oh, Jen, I'm sorry. Who was it you were going out with again? That nice boy from the newspaper. . .Sam, wasn't it? No, Shaun?" Ms. Kellogg asked.

"Scott," I said. "And it's OK. I'm fine."

"Well, if you're sure. . .I'm sure I speak for Trina as well when I say that if you ever want to talk to any-"

"I'm FINE!" I said, more firmly than I meant to.

After an awkward pause, Trina cleared her throat nervously and said, "Umm. . .could we have a look at the list of extra-curriculars, please Ms. Kellogg?"

"Of course," she replied, and handed Trina and I a sheet each. On it was a list of the lessons that still had places left.

**Cheerleading -- 4** _(even being Miss Special Sauce isn't enough to get a place on the Clayton High School cheerleading squad- a school where the cheerleading uniforms have Roosters on them, for God's sake!)_

**School Band -- 3 **_(the fact that I don't play an instrument is a problem with this one, really. . .)_

**Yearbook -- 1 **_(too similar to the _Register

**Debate Class -- 2 **_(would do if there's no other options, I suppose)_

**Art Class -- 2** _(major problem: I can't draw to save my life)_

"Well, girls?" Ms. Kellogg asked, after giving us time to look at each option. "Any decisions yet?"

I looked blankly at Trina. She, however, didn't realise what I was telepathically saying to her ("_I have no idea what to choose out of any of those, I'll just follow you._" Even though that did end up with me participating in Show Choir last time. . .) and responded to Ms. Kellogg's question with, "Well, last time I chose Show Choir, and Jenny didn't like that, so this time I'll let her decide!"

Yeah, thanks a bunch, Trina.

I chose Debate Class in the end, because it was the only one I could realistically do. And Trina said she'd do it too. And _nothing_ can be worse than Show Choir!

-----

Famous last words. How could I have thought that it would be that easy to just choose a new lesson and go? At forth period, Trina and I arrived at the room used by the Debate Club, with her going on about couldn't I have chose Art Class instead.

I told her to be quiet, we were here now, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. We walked into the classroom, which I immediately scanned for people I might know. I only recognised one person- tall girl, with dark hair, and blue eyes, who I thought might have been called Christina, though I wasn't sure.

"Ah, class, here we have our two new members. Girls, I'm Mr. Ralph, and this is the Clayton High School debate team," a short, rather plump man, with graying hair and a kind face smiled at us from across the classroom. "Could you perhaps introduce yourselves, and tell us a little bit about what you're like, what hobbies you have, things like that?"

He paused, looking expectantly at us. Trina cleared her throat. "Umm. . .my name is Catrina Larsson, but I prefer to be known as Trina, I'm in the drama club and I'd like to be an actress when I'm older."

Mr. Ralph smiled and nodded to her. "And you?" he asked, turning to me.

"I'm Jen Greenley, I'm on the _Register_ committee, and. . .umm. . .that's about it. . ." I trailed off quietly.

"Thank you, girls. Now, if Ms. Larsson could go and sit in the empty chair by. . .I'm so sorry, I've forgotten your name, dear," Mr. Ralph said, looking questioningly at the girl I'd thought was called Christina. That was her name, and Trina went to sit next to her.

"And Ms. Greenley. . .hang on a minute, weren't you that young lady who had the honour of showing young Mr. Striker around school a little while ago?" he asked.

For no particular reason, I found myself blushing. "Umm. . .yes, that was me," I said.

"Very interesting," he said, peering out at me through glasses that looked several inches thick. "Now, did you not say that you were on the school newspaper?"

"Yes," I replied, wondering why he was asking.

"Then you should know Mr. Bennett over there! Can I ask you to go and sit by him, please?" Mr. Ralph asked me.

Scott. How come I hadn't spotted him before? What was he doing here? I thought he did cooking! He's not _meant_ to be here! I CAN'T sit next to him. But how can I tell Mr. Ralph that? He doesn't know what's been going on! And what about-

"Ms. Greenley? I asked you to go and sit next to Mr. Bennett, please," Mr. Ralph's smile wasn't quite so kind now.

"Yes, sir," I said, and hurriedly made my way over to Scott's desk. He stared straight ahead, ignoring me totally, whilst I perched gingerly on the chair next to him, as if it were an unexploded bomb. Perhaps if I didn't make a sound, he wouldn't notice I was there.

"Now that we're all seated, I would like to ask Ms. Robinson if she would kindly read out today's debate from the board, please," Mr. Ralph said, turning to a nondescript girl on the second row.

"Katherine was caught leaving a shop with a pair of shoes in her bag, which she had not paid for. When she was apprehended by security, she said that she had meant to buy them, and put them in her bag and forgot about them. She has offered to return them and pay for them, but the owner of the shop isn't sure whether to prosecute her for shoplifting or not. Katherine has a clear criminal record, and has never been prosecuted for shoplifting before," the girl read.

"Thank you," said Mr. Ralph, nodding to her. "Now, I want you to work in pairs, with the person on the right side of every desk arguing that Katherine _shouldn't_ be prosecuted-" that was me, "-and the person on the left side of every desk-" Scott, "-arguing that she should. At the end of the lesson, we will have a vote, and the side with the most votes wins. Off you go!"

I caught Trina's eye and she gave me a sympathetic look. "Good luck!" she mouthed, before turning back to Christina and entering the debate with her.

"Well?" asked Scott, and though his voice wasn't loud, it made me jump. "Aren't you going to start?"

Oh, God. This should be easy- after all, I've debated countless books with Scott before, but it has never been when we weren't speaking- well, being made to speak. If it weren't for the fact that we've been _made_ to talk, Scott would still be giving me the silent treatment.

"Umm, yes," I replied. I cleared my throat. "Umm. . .I think that Katherine shouldn't be prosecuted, because she's got a clean criminal record, so obviously she hasn't shoplifted before-"

"Not necessarily," cut in Scott. "She may have shoplifted before; she just might not have been caught doing it."

"Well. . .she's offered to pay for the shoes, and return them!" I said. "If she was a thief, she wouldn't offer to do that!" I said.

"Oh?" Scott asked, sceptically. "And why not?"

"Well. . .because. . .because that's a _nice_ thing to do! If she was a thief she just wouldn't _do_ something like that!" Oh, my God. This was _dire_.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "A thief just wouldn't _do_ something like that?" he asked.

"She just doesn't sound like the kind of person who would shoplift, from the impressions I get about her," I said.

"Yeah, well, sometimes the impressions you get about people are completely wrong," said Scott.

Oh. . .

Thank God Mr. Ralph stopped the debate then, asking different groups to contribute to a class debate. Trina was particularly good at it, and Mr. Ralph seemed very impressed by her. I just sat silently and waited for it to be over.

As soon as the class was dismissed, I bolted for the Girl's bathroom, the one no one really remembers is there, on the second floor by the Science labs. Or so I thought- there was someone in there- Cara Schlossberg. "Hey Jen," she said. "How're you? What's wrong?" she finished, alarmed, as I buried my face in my hands.

"I'm not feeling to good," I said, my voice muffled. "I've got bad cramps."

"Oh," Cara said, sympathetically. "I get that. It's awful, isn't it?"

I pull a tissue out of my pocket and blow my nose in response. "Oh. . .umm. . .Jen?" she continued, awkwardly.

"Mm-hmm?" I responded.

"I. . .er. . .wanted to say thank you. . .for all the times you helped me. All that stuff about believing in yourself. . .it's really good advice. Just you wait 'til our senior year- I bet you'll be made the new _Ask Annie_ when this one leaves. Mind you, she gives some pretty good advice, too," Cara said.

If only she knew. . .

_-----_

_Makeover next chapter, I promise! I tried to make this chapter very long, seeing as I haven't updated for so long! Thanks for all the lovely reviews I've been getting. :)_


	9. Made Over

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine. Woe is me, sob, sob, etc, etc . . .

**A/N:** Hmm. The last chapter I posted received the lowest amount of reviews since the story began. If I'm doing something wrong, please tell me. I do love constructive criticism, so please feel free to offer it. Thanks to those who did review, and, of course, **Purple Rhapsody** for beta reading this chapter.

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ASK **ANNIE**

Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School _Register_. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.

_Dear Annie,_

_My best friend has been really quiet lately. She's usually a happy person, who's always ready to listen and help people and she's very kind. But lately she's seemed really withdrawn, and I think something major has happened in her life to upset her, but she hasn't said anything about it. Should I ask her what's wrong, so I can see if there's any way of helping her, or would it be a) rude, and b) none of my business?_

_Worried about my friend_

_**Dear Worried,**_

**_If you are genuinely worried about your friend, ask her what's wrong, and if you can help. Stress that she doesn't have to tell you what's up if she doesn't want to, but that you'll always be there to lend an ear, if she's in need of one. However, if you're one of those girls who just wants to know so that you can spread the latest gossip 'round the school- don't bother. She's better off without you and your 'I'm so worried about you' farce._**

_**Annie**_

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"Omigod, Jen! It's perfect! The colour suits you perfectly! And it will look ah-mazing with those pale blue jeans of yours. Grab it in your size, pay for it, and then let's go check out the shoes!" Trina gushed.

We were shopping for a new outfit for me, for after my makeover- the one that would, absolutely, no question about it, make Scott listen to me. Still, the shopping experience hadn't actually been too painful. I mean, Trina and I don't exactly have the same taste in clothes (you only have to look at our Spring Fling dresses to see that- mine was (as usual) the whole girl-next-door thing, and hers was a black 'village Goth' piece, with alarming amounts of cleavage, which resulted in an equally alarming amount of attention from almost every male at the dance.), but the top she had picked out, I too had fallen in love with.

It was an off white colour, with a single piece of embroidery- five small blue forget-me-nots in the right-hand corner, and sleeveless, with a swooping v-neck. It was made of silk, and, when I tried it on, it clung to my body in a way that gave the illusion that I actually had curves! Yes, I know! Amazing, isn't it? The only drawback was the price tag. But still, I had all that babysitting money saved up- I ought to treat myself sometime. I mean, I was meant to be saving up for the _gorgeous_ blue VW Bug, that I was meant to be paying half of (my parents had agreed to fork out for the other half, as long as I paid for insurance and gas and stuff), but one top won't hurt, will it?

And it was going to a good cause- the 'get Jen and Scott back together' cause.

And it would go with so many things- I could practically wear it everyday, if it weren't for the fact that it had to be cleaned.

Oh, all right. It was $89.99

Just don't tell my Mom . . .

The shoes were easier. Trina decided for me that I would wear the top with my really pale blue jeans, but because (according to her anyway) I have reasonably long legs, I didn't necessarily need shoes with heels.

We browsed the shoe shops, and eventually narrowed the list of possible purchases down to five, and out of this five, I chose a pair of white ballet flats, with a bow on the front. The shade of white exactly matched my top, and though it wasn't exactly a practical colour (I dread to think what'll happen if it rains, and I accidentally walk into a puddle!) they were only $5 (in the sale) so I guess I can't complain.

You know, things weren't going that badly. I mean, when Trina had said "makeover" I immediately thought she'd deck me out in a bikini top, a _very_ miniskirt and the kind of boots Julia Roberts wore in _Pretty Woman_, but the clothes she'd picked out for me were very surprising. For one thing, I actually liked them and could see myself wearing them, for another they actually had more than a couple of square inches worth of material in them, and for a third thing, I looked _good_ in them.

I tried the new top and shoes on with my faded blue jeans at my house whilst Trina went next door to "fetch her supplies" (God help us all!) and even I could see that I didn't actually look that bad. I thought Trina would just put my hair up, give me a slick of gloss, and wowee! I'd be ready to go!

Or not . . .

So I wasn't prepared for the giant _rucksack_ (I kid you not) she'd come 'round with. By now, it was four forty-five, and I'd expected to be at Scott's house at five. (Today's _Register_ meeting had been cancelled, as the two freshmen girls were on a field trip, Kwang was off sick and Geri-Lynn had said she couldn't make tonight's meeting, so Scott decided that, as we were so low on numbers, there was no point getting together, thank _God._)

But Trina had other ideas, and dumped the bag on my bed. She opened it and brought out: a miniskirt (uh-oh . . . ), a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner, curlers _and_ a set of straighteners, hair spray, foundation, blusher, eye-shadows, lip-glosses and lipsticks, mascara, and last but not least, about seven trillion hair ornaments.

"Umm . . . Trina?" I asked, nervously. "Why have you brought that skirt around?"

"Because you're going to wear it, of course!" Trina exclaimed, as if it were obvious.

"Er, no I'm not. I bought that top because it goes with my jeans, remember? And the shoes, too. I'm not wearing the skirt- I can't!" I told her.

"Yes, you are," Trina replied. "Look, I said you should wear the top with the jeans because, if I'd said, "Hey, that'll look great with my denim mini!" you'd never have bought it. Also, summer's set well in by now- it's, like, ninety degrees at _night_, so if you wear jeans, you'll melt!"

Whilst it was hot, it wasn't that hot. And I WASN'T going to wear the skirt. I told Trina this, but she just scoffed at me. "Rubbish!" she snorted. "You are going to wear the skirt, Jen, like it or not!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are, because trust me, it'll make Scott sit up and take notice, so all you have to do is blurt out how terribly sorry you are, and that you _weren't_ cheating on him because you love him so much, and-"

"Trina, Scott's not that kind of guy," I broke in. "He thinks with his brain, not his . . . you know . . . He just would be like that."

"Look, Jen, if this is about you being insecure about your appearance, don't be! You look really pretty, you just need a bit of . . . tweaking here and there. But everybody does- it's normal! I mean, even celebrities wear padded bras, or have their acne scars airbrushed out, or have their teeth perfected- it's normal! If you were, like, Cara, or someone of her shape, I'd say, no you're, right- don't wear the skirt, you'll look awful, but you're not Cara, and you'll look fine!" Trina said.

"Trina, this isn't about me being 'insecure' about my appearance. This is about the fact that it isn't going to work. Scott won't just make up with me because of the way I look, or what skirt, or jeans, or dress, or whatever I happen to be wearing or not wearing. It's not because I think that I'm fat, or anything, it just WON'T WORK! Can't you understand that?" I retorted.

She looked me in the eye and her expression softened. I thought that I'd won, that she realised what I was saying and Scott wasn't that type of guy. That he's not superficial like that.

And then she opened her mouth and said, "You wear the skirt, or I accidentally let slip that you're _Annie_."

Which was, frankly, below the belt. I mean, did she really have to stoop that low? It wasn't fair. The really stupid thing was, I couldn't tell if she was bluffing, or if she actually would 'accidentally' let slip to a couple of people that I was _Ask Annie_. I doubted she would . . . but I wasn't going to risk it. I didn't need the stress of people finding out about it. So I put the damn skirt on.

"There," Trina replied, throwing a benevolent smile in my direction. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

I glared at her.

Once I'd put my top and shoes on, she dragged me over to my dressing table, thrust me down into the chair and wet my hair with a flannel. She then straightened my almost-but-not-quite grown out fringe, and curled the rest of my hair, before putting it up (though thankfully not in a way that made me look like Marge Simpson, which was what happened last time she did my hair up. Except that my hair was still brown, but whatever) and fixing it there with hair spray.

Then she started applying foundation, to my face. "Normally, you should exfoliate and cleanse and tone, and all the rest of it before a big night, but we haven't got time. Close your eyes," she commanded, and started putting eye shadow on. Which, you know, I am capable of doing myself. Ditto foundation. And mascara. And lip-liner, lipstick and lip-gloss, and whatever else she was slathering on my face like there was no tomorrow.

"There," she said, finally. "Done. And, if I do say so myself, you look great."

I glanced at myself in the mirror. Yes, I did look better than I usually do, but it was all superficial. Sure, Courtney Deckard and her posse might be more willing than usual to stage a conversation with me about the sale at Abercrombie and Fitch, but I'd much rather be having a conversation with Scott about the sale at Barnes and Noble. And, dressed like I was, I would say that that wasn't likely to happen.

"How far away is Scott's house?" Trina asked. "Because neither of us have our driving licence, so you'll have to walk, but in new shoes that might not be such a good idea."

"It's only about a mile," I replied. "I'll manage."

So off I bravely went, not to sail in un-chartered waters, not knowing what I would find there (a new world, full of savage natives? Plague? A mall?), but to walk a mile through the streets of sleepy old Clayton, Indiana, on a mission to convince my ex-boyfriend to take me back.

I'll try anything once.

Read: I was desperate. Yes, that's right, I, Jenny Greenley, was desperate enough that I had managed to convince myself that Trina's plan would work. After the impassioned speech (oh, alright, sulky argument) I had presented to Trina about Scott just not being That Type of Guy, I was now telling myself that, y'know what? This might work.

Ha, ha, ha.

So, there I was, walking down Laburnum Coppice (a cul-de-sac), trying to find number thirty-four, wearing a top, skirt and shoes that, though they did, admittedly, rub a tiny bit, made me look gorgeous, when I spotted a car that made me think, hmm, that looks familiar. It wasn't Scott's car (though it was parked very near to his house), so I just figured that perhaps it belonged to someone at school (I had a feeling I should know who it belonged to).

I was about to cross the road, when I happened to look up and see Scott's front door open. He was the one opening it; showing someone out of his house.

That someone was Geri-Lyn Packard.

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**A/N**: I know, I know, not much of a cliffhanger. Sorry. Review, and I will love you forever. Well. As long as 'forever' means 'as long as it takes to read said review'. 


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